


A Perfect Disaster

by fohatic



Category: Babylon (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Drug Use, Eventual Smut, F/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Suspense
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-23
Updated: 2015-08-20
Packaged: 2018-04-09 22:22:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4366421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fohatic/pseuds/fohatic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Liz and Finn get caught up in the London riots and have The Worst Night Ever.<br/>Kind of like a truncated version of '24', except without Jack Bauer to save them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story begins during the car scene (episode six) where Charles, Finn and Liz encountered the rioting, right after Liz's inadvertent hand-grab. From there, it veers off into an alternate storyline. 
> 
> Note regarding rating: depending on how smutty this gets, the rating might change to 'Explicit,' if necessary.
> 
> Please excuse (and feel free to point out!) any Americanisms that show up where they shouldn't (except for the spelling, which can't be avoided). Also, I've never been to the U.K. and I'm a terrible driver, so whatever I've cobbled together regarding routes taken has been gleaned from google maps and might be unnecessarily disorienting.
> 
> The story title is from the song 'Dominic' by Ramona Lisa.

* * *

 

" _Fucking BACK UP!"_ Finn shouted as the mob moved closer, getting bolder by the second as they descended on the trapped Range Rover. One of the men in front swung a bat through the air as he approached, his eyes lit with anarchic mania.

" _REVERSE!"_ Inglis ordered.

"I... I can't," the driver stammered, eyes fixed to the rear-view mirror as he willed the vehicle behind them to move, "they need to reverse."

As the police escort doubled back, the driver of the second Range Rover finally got in motion and sped backwards, tires screeching as the mob began pelting the windshield with debris. Beside him, Finn felt Liz jump at the crash of glass against glass as a bottle impacted with the front passenger window.

" _GO, GO, GO, GO..."_ Finn chanted as another bottle burst against the car bonnet; more objects were hurled at them as they got into gear and took off, the mob chasing after them as they fled, shouting and posturing and scaring the living shit out of all four passengers.

Inglis exhaled as they backed up fast and far enough that the mob had given up the chase. "All right, Frank: find us another route."

* * *

...

Liz tuned out the sound of Inglis's walkie as the driver turned onto another side street, following the tentative instructions of the motorbike officer doing reconnaissance up ahead. Her heart was beating too fast, still, and the palpable tension radiating off the two men on either side of her wasn't helping. In their efforts to avoid riot activity, they'd veered completely off-course as the police escort struggled to find a route that hadn't been impacted by escalating events. Inglis was increasingly frustrated at their failed attempts to reconnect with the A23, and Finn's high-strung backseat driving had only been making matters worse. Finn was silent now after Inglis had snapped at him to "SHUT UP, ALREADY," his arms crossed tightly in front of him and his elbow jabbing into Liz's arm whenever the driver took a right turn. Liz shut her eyes and focused on her breathing: _in for four.... hold for seven....... out for eight........ in for four.... hold for seven....... out for eight........ in for four.... hold for seven....... out for eight........_

On the final exhale, Liz let out her breath in a quiet _whoosh_ , then blinked her eyes open again. In her periphery she could see Finn looking at her, and she turned to meet his gaze. He looked back at her for just a moment before looking out the passenger window, then turned agitated eyes onto the commissioner.

"You do realize we're headed _away_ from Lambeth," he tried. Inglis gave him a look that didn't invite further commentary, but after rapidly tapping his index finger against his arm for a beat, Finn asked, "Does Frank even know where he's going, or is he just following the lead of some terrified officer on a motorcycle? Shouldn't the backup units have arrived by now?"

"I put in your request for backup twenty minutes ago," the driver interjected, "they must have encountered some disturbances en route."

"Check on it," Inglis instructed.

Liz watched the driver reach for the controls of his comm unit, and listened along with Inglis and Finn to the conversation between Frank and the dispatch officer. They all seemed to deflate a bit as they heard the grim report.

"This is a bloody nightmare," Finn grumbled, his head falling back against the headrest. "We never should have gone out in these conditions. Couldn't Lambeth Command have had the decency to just Skype us, instead of parading us out into the middle of a riot in a _fucking motorcade?"_

"I doubt it would have reflected well on Charles if he'd opted to make his first major decisions as commissioner from the teleconference room," Liz pointed out.

Finn rolled his head to the side to frown at her, looking her over judgmentally and asking, "Do you suppose he's better off now, making decisions from the back of a fucking Range Rover?"

The crackling of Inglis's walkie interrupted whatever response Liz would've come up with, and everyone listened as the motorcycle officer's voice broke through the static.

"Officer Doyle is reporting some minor activity on Southwark street, commissioner; if you want to risk it, we can take that route eastbound and connect with the A3, then head south back to Borough Road."

"Fine, let's go," Inglis answered, trying to maintain some semblance of patience in his predicament.

Liz wondered what constituted "minor activity" at this stage, tensing as the driver relayed the plan into the transceiver. She glanced at Inglis, who gave her a somewhat tense nod of assurance, then turned to Finn and noted his nervous expression as he fixed his eyes on the motorcycle officer rejoining them up ahead. As Liz looked out to watch the escort reconvene, Finn's eyes darted sideways, glimpsing Liz's face before dropping to where her hand was squeezing her knee. He quickly turned his head to stare out his window.

* * *

 ...

Southwark street looked as if the apocalypse had just passed through it. Rioters had clearly come this way, leaving a wake of broken glass from abandoned vehicles and shattered storefront windows, small fires, and littering from overturned bins and discarded items from looters. Some shadowy figures were still darting in and out of the empty stores, taking off in different directions as they spotted the flashing lights from the two motorcycle officers. Frank had to occasionally steer into the opposite lane to avoid the odd battered, abandoned vehicle, which everyone would stare at nervously as they passed.

"I hope nobody's trapped inside one of those," Liz murmured as they approached two cars which had collided into each other.

"Emergency services have been through already," Frank assured her as he veered to the right, trying to avoid the obstruction. "Hold on..."

Suddenly the car jerked everyone sideways as Frank drove the right-side wheels up onto the curb, throwing Finn off-balance. Finn awkwardly smashed into Liz, looking vaguely horrified as he struggled to right himself.

"Damn it, a bit more warning, next time!" Finn snapped as the car steadied, running his right hand through his hair in frustration.

"I said, 'hold on,'" Frank shrugged.

The motorcade pressed on through the ravaged street as the spectacle grew more and more severe. There seemed to be more looters about, and the way that some of them were disregarding the presence of police officers was putting everyone on edge.

"Look!" Liz shouted, pointing toward a bright blaze up ahead.

Everyone gaped in silence as they slowly drove past an abandoned fire engine whose front cab was... _on fire._

"Shit," Inglis murmured as they watched the flames licking out of the windows as the seat cushions burned away in a noxious black cloud of smoke.

Liz's wide-eyed expression faltered when she heard the simulated _click_ of a camera phone behind her, and turned to find Finn admiring his handiwork on the glowing screen in front of him. His eyes briefly flicked to hers and his expression turned smug.

"Having fun?" Liz accused.

"Don't pretend that you don't want me to forward this to you," Finn smirked, holding up his phone to show off the surprisingly well-composed shot he'd taken, which included Liz's awestruck, silhouetted profile in the foreground of the dramatic scene. "I'll let you upload it to facebook if you credit me."

Liz just narrowed her eyes and gave him one of her signature, _what's wrong with you?_ looks before returning her attention to the scene outside.

"All right, Borough High Street is just up ahead," Frank announced as one of the two motorcycle officers signaled to them before breaking off from the convoy. "Officer Doyle is going to check it out."

"Good," Inglis replied, "Get us out of here."

The vehicles slowed as they approached the intersection, everyone wary of what might lie ahead. Finn glanced at Liz and noticed her pale complexion and her shallow breathing, and the white-knuckled grip that her fingers had on her knee. He felt like he ought to say something.

"If something should go wrong and I don't make it, please tell my wife that she can keep the house and the car, but that my final wish was to be buried with my executive home office chair." As Liz turned to him with a confused expression, he continued, "I don't even want a coffin; just prop me up in the chair with some twine and consider it sorted. I doubt that any padded box could match that chair in terms of perpetual comfort, anyhow."

"Weird joke, Finn," Liz deadpanned as the driver glanced at Finn through his rear-view mirror without comment.

"Oh but I'm not joking, Liz," Finn continued, gratified to see that her grip on her knee had relaxed, "I paid damned good money for that chair: mahogany leather, deluxe memory foam lumbar support... I've barely broken it in — it would be a shame to give it up so soon. And while we're on the subject: if you insist on attending my funeral, I'd ask that you refrain from speaking at the eulogy. Or at all, if possible. A few convincing crocodile tears will suffice."

"I don't think you have to worry about me showing up," Liz assured him.

"Very good of you, thank you," Finn replied dismissively. He looked over to Inglis and found the commissioner regarding him strangely. "Just a bit of banter," he explained, "trying to lighten the mood."

They'd arrived at the corner of Southwark and Borough High Street. Frank flipped his indicator on, and Liz wondered if he did it out of habit or if he was intentionally communicating with the second Range Rover.

"At the A3 now, turning right," Inglis spoke into the walkie. "Are we clear to pass?"

No answer. Inglis leaned forward in his seat, peering at the motorbike officer whose attention was focused on something in the distance.

"Officer Doyle? Are we clear to pass?" Inglis tried again.

Suddenly the officer grabbed her radio and shouted, _"Officer down! Officer down! Request permission to assist."_

"What's happening?!" Finn exclaimed.

"Officer James, report status of Officer Doyle," Inglis tried.

" _Shit! They're going to kill him!"_ The female officer replied, and sped away on her motorcycle before she'd received orders.

"Oh my God!" Liz gasped.

Frank pulled forward too quickly into the cross street to get a better view, then slammed on the brakes. Finn's arm flew out reflexively as everyone lurched forward, catching Liz across the chest.

Everyone made a sound of alarm when they saw what was happening. Officer Doyle had been pulled from his motorcycle by an enraged mob, who were beating him as Officer James sped towards them, lights flashing. As she tore into the crowd on her motorcycle, the rioters jumped out of the way, a few pulling back from their attack on Doyle while she proceeded to drive a half circle around his prone body, threatening the crowd with her vehicle.

"We have to _do something!"_ Liz insisted, "She can't fight them off by herself!"

"She's a trained officer," Finn argued, a desperate edge to his voice, "that's her job; not ours. We need to protect the commissioner!"

"No," Inglis countered, "we can't leave them. Frank?"

"You want me to drive into the mob?" Frank asked, perplexed.

"Sir, _please!_ We need to go!" Finn urged, "You're not thinking clearly! This isn't the time for heroism!"

"What would you know about it?" Inglis snapped, watching in horror as the mob surrounded Officer James. "Frank, we've got to get them out of there! You two," he said, turning to Liz and Finn, "out of the car!"

Liz and Finn looked aghast at the unexpected command.

" _NOW!"_ Inglis shouted, "Either get out, or you're going in with me! Make your choice!"

Finn blanched as he realized that the commissioner was serious. He quickly unbuckled his seat belt and opened his door, then looked at Liz.

"I'm staying," she decided, "I can help get them into the car."

"Like hell you are," Finn exclaimed, reaching for her seat belt and unbuckling it.

"Hey!" Liz protested.

"Liz, go," Inglis agreed.

Before she could try and argue further, Finn grabbed her around the waist and wrenched her out himself, dropping his cell phone in the process. He'd only just slammed the door shut before the car tore off in the direction of the mob, followed immediately by the second Range Rover carrying Inglis's protective detail.

" _Shit,_ my fucking phone is in the car!" Finn cursed, his arm still locked around a struggling Liz as if she might take off after the car on foot. "Shit, shit, _shit..._ This is all _your_ fault!"

" _You son of a bitch!"_ Liz hissed as she wrenched out of Finn's grip, "Who the fuck do you think you are, manhandling me like that?!"

"I think I'm the man who just saved your ungrateful life!!!" Finn shouted back with utter conviction before turning and watching the cars disappear into the teeming mob, tearing at his hair with his hands. "Charles must have lost his fucking mind!"

"It's not _fucking insanity_ , you emotional cripple, it's called 'humanity'!" Liz scoffed as Finn paced around in nervous energy, "He's doing what decent any person would've done; what _we_ should be doing, with him!"

"What, _dying?"_ Finn sputtered, circling around Liz, "At the hands of a murderous pack of subhuman scum, high on their own idiocy?" Suddenly Finn's look of exasperation transformed into one of wild fear as he glanced down the street past Liz. "Oh fuck," he croaked, "Where are they going?"

Liz spun around to look toward where Inglis had gone. Both of the Range Rovers were behind the mob now, moving in the opposite direction. "Well, shit..." Liz murmured, "Either Charles was too late and those officers are already dead, or he just saved their lives."

"They left us here..." Finn marveled in disbelief, "I can't believe it... we're completely fucked..."

“He’ll probably double back...”

“What, back through that mob?” Finn patronized, “Or do you expect him to take a second pass at Southwark Street with two injured officers in tow?”

The sound of a motorcycle engine flared up, and both watched in alarm as the flashing lights of one of the fallen police vehicles emerged from the crowd, heading their way.

"Is that...?" Liz wondered, squinting to make out the driver. The bike was swerving about in a disquieting manner, suggesting that the driver was either critically injured or perhaps intoxicated.

Finn grabbed Liz by the wrist and pulled her toward a bus stop advert, slipping behind it and explaining, "I don't think that's one of our officers."

As soon as he spoke, the sound of a gunshot rang out, followed by a whooping cry. Liz and Finn ducked as the driver sped nearer, and they watched in horror as a young man possibly in his late teens held a gun above his head, laughing and shouting as he tore down the street on the police motorcycle.

Finn stuck his head out to glance down the direction the man had come, and turned back to Liz with wide eyes. "We have to get out of here, some of them are heading back this way."

"Where? We can't go back the way we came," she insisted, remembering the looters who'd acted indifferent to the police presence.

"We'll have to try this way, then," Finn replied, moving determinedly toward the other end of Borough High Street.

"On foot?!"

"If you want to wait around for a taxi, you're welcome to," Finn sarcastically retorted without breaking his stride.

"What if someone sees us?" Liz worried as she reluctantly followed after him.

"We'll pretend that we're looters," Finn offered.

"Dressed in suits?"

"You can nick a hoodie from Tesco," Finn replied irritably.

"Then we wouldn't be pretending," Liz pointed out.

"We just need to find a phone; let someone know where we are..." Finn murmured, as if to reassure himself, "...Charles will send someone."  
  
Suddenly Finn stopped and turned to Liz with startling desperation, looking her over and asking, "Where's _your_ phone??"

"It's in my handbag," Liz answered dryly, "which is still in the car that you abducted me from."

Finn gave her a withering look before resuming his brisk pace, muttering something involving the words 'ungrateful' and 'batshit.'

"You're really something else, you know that?" Liz scoffed, pausing in indignation as Finn turned to her with a raised brow. "You really expect me to be  _grateful_ to you for pulling me out of an SUV in the middle of a riot that  _you_ perpetuated?"

"Oh for fuck's sake, don't start in on that Karl Jeffries business, again," Finn complained.

"Do you believe in karma, Finn?" Liz asked with wide eyes, nodding suggestively.

"Of course not, but I wouldn't be surprised to learn that you do."

"Your smear campaign is coming back to haunt you."

"Is that so? Then what are _you_ doing here?"

"I'm a fucking casualty in your gigantic cosmic fuck-up," Liz accused.

"Right. You're completely without fault—pure as the driven snow—and I'm just the massive shit that keeps dragging you down and sullying your impeccable PR strategies."

"Pretty much."

"And you think _I'm_ the deluded one?" Finn scoffed. "Get over yourself, Liz. We're in this together. You're no more capable of single-handedly rescuing an entire system than I am of destroying it. We're just two cogs on opposite wheels, and the machine is malfunctioning. It happens. Regularly. Welcome to the public sector."

Liz rolled her eyes as Finn stormed off, unwilling to argue further. Like it or not, she was stuck with him for the time being. 'In this together,' all right.

They walked on in non-companionable silence until they approached the entrance to the London Bridge Underground station, at which point Finn suddenly broke into a sprint at the sight of a phone box. Liz breathed out a sigh of relief as she hurried to catch up to him, only to deflate when he held up the handset: it had been torn clean off.

Finn cursed under his breath and tossed the handset back into the phone box as he sulked out onto the street, checking up and down before continuing in the same direction. Liz paused, clearing her throat until Finn turned around to look at her questioningly. She motioned toward the station entrance as if her intentions were obvious.

"What? You think we can just hop a tube back to Scotland Yard? _The lines have been closed,_ Liz."

"We can wait for help down there; it's got to be safer than being out on the street."

"I don't think so," Finn frowned.

"Why not?" Liz challenged, "There's got to be phones down there, right?"

"And who knows what else," Finn shuddered. "Actually, there probably aren’t. Besides, I'd rather not die in a filthy tube station, if it's all the same to you."

"You're being ridiculous."

"Says the woman who was determined to ride straight into a rabid mob."

"What are you afraid of? Some homeless person asking you for change?"

"More like a closed-in, unmonitored area where anyone could do any number of things to a couple of well-dressed, government official types, and nobody would be the wiser until our bodies are discovered."

"There's CCTV," Liz offered weakly.

"Right. I'm sure assistance would be dispatched immediately," Finn replied sarcastically, turning away and continuing up the street.

Liz glanced back at the station with a sigh, unconvinced that following Finn was the better course of action, but not willing to break off on her own ( _yet_ ).

The sound of a police helicopter could be heard echoing off the buildings from somewhere nearby, as well as the not-distant-enough shouting of rioters.

"I can't believe you'd rather be out on the streets right now than down in a tube station," Liz complained.

"Forgive me if I'm not very keen on taking the advice of someone who just volunteered to die ten minutes ago."

"You know, if we'd stayed with the commissioner, we'd probably be perfectly safe right now," Liz scoffed. "We'd be headed to A&E with Inglis's security detail, and all you'd have to complain about is some poor cop's blood soaking into your suit."

"You don't know that," Finn belittled. "For all you know, those officers could be lying dead in the street alongside the commissioner right now."

"I don't think so. Inglis could handle himself."

"Unarmed? Outnumbered?" Finn pointed out.

"He's highly trained," Liz started, realizing too late that Finn would twist those words against her.

" _Exactly_ ," Finn drawled, his eyes lighting up with the satisfaction she'd predicted as he turned on her. "Which is why he ordered _us_ out of the car in the first place! And which is why—to your continued ingratitude—I had the presence of mind to drag you out with me when you thought you'd have a go at crowd control!"

"It was the right thing to do," Liz maintained.

"No, it really wasn't. I don't expect you to thank me when you realize that, but I hope that you do realize it, regardless."

Finn and Liz had been so preoccupied with their argument that they'd failed to notice that they weren't alone under the darkened overpass. Suddenly Liz caught sight of an orange glow behind Finn, and inhaled sharply when she realized that someone had lit a cigarette. Finn turned to see what had caught her attention, and his blood ran cold when he saw the small gang of young men loitering in the shadows.

"Shit, Liz — it's the motorcycle," Finn intoned, noticing the stolen police vehicle one of the young men was seated astride.

"Let's get out of here," she agreed.

As soon as they turned to leave, they heard low voices emanating from the gang. The ones who'd been leaning against the wall pushed off, cajoling the others as they all started rousing. The motorcycle engine flared up, and Liz and Finn looked back in fear before hurrying off toward the tube station.

"Oi! Hang on," the motorcycle thief shouted as he cut them off, blocking their path with unpracticed finesse. "I'm going to need to see some identification," the thief joked, posturing with the same authoritative swagger that Robbie Vas had employed. A few of the others laughed as they caught up with him, circling the two suited strangers with a mixture of contempt and interest.

"We don't want any trouble," Finn tried, nervously eying the gun tucked into the thief's waistband.

"I wasn't talking to you, was I?" the thief replied, before turning to look Liz over.

"How about it, luv? Gonna give me your name? Or do I need to give you a body search?"

The others snickered at that, while Finn tightened his lips and inhaled shakily.

"We have to get going," Liz murmured, trying to walk around the bike only to have one of the others stand in her way.

"You American or somefing?" The thief asked. "Then maybe you don't see how this works... see this?" He asked, indicating the bike he was straddling, "This is an _official police vehicle,_ right? That means, that you have to do what I say."

"You're out of uniform, officer," Finn muttered, earning some glares and a few odd snickers from the gang.

The thief glanced down at his puff hoodie, squinting at Finn as he asked, "You taking the piss?"

Finn just raised an eyebrow in response, irritating the thief as he asked more pointedly, "Oi! _You taking the piss?!_ "

"I'm just making an observation!" Finn sputtered, holding his hands out in a placating gesture.

The thief settled down, cocking his head at Finn and letting out a low huff. "Oh yeah? You're funny, mistah... Oi, miss," he added, nodding at Liz, "your boyfriend's funny."

"Shit, Nate," one of the others cut in, "let's rob 'em and get on wif it."

"Whateva," the thief shrugged, pulling the gun out of his waistband and holding it sideways at Finn, "empty your pockets, tosser."

Finn hurried to comply, relinquishing his wallet to the outstretched hand of one of the young thugs, then patting his pockets and pulling out his keys, his I.D. card and a packet of nicotine gum.

"That all you got? No phone?" the thief asked skeptically. Finn shook his head, looking supremely irritated when one of the thugs began to pat at him awkwardly.

"He's got a watch," the thug said.

"Oh yeah? Nice one?" the thief asked.

"I reckon it's worth something," the thug replied.

"Hand it over," the thief instructed a very petulant Finn, then looked over at Liz to ask, "How 'bout you?"

"I lost my purse," she replied in a steady voice. "No phone, either."

"Check her," the thief instructed one of the others.

"Keep your disgusting hands off of her," Finn spat, surprising Liz with his outburst.

"Oi!" the thief shouted, cocking the gun at Finn in warning, "I don't think I like your attitude, tosser! Want me to adjust it for you?!"

"It's all right," Liz assured, taking off her blazer and holding it out to one of the others, then gesturing at her skirt to indicate her lack of pockets. "See? I've got nothing."

"I wouldn't say that, luv," the thief joked, looking her over with approval. "Don't sell yourself short."

"There's nothing here, mate; let's bounce," said the thug who'd checked her jacket.

The thief made a sucking sound, parting his lips and shaking his head in disappointment. "Right then. I guess this is goodbye. I'll be dreaming 'bout 'chu," he promised Liz, winking at her as he tucked the gun back into his waistband and revved the motorcycle engine, circling around as the others shuffled off, some making obscene gestures and others picking through the contents of Finn's wallet.

After releasing the breath she'd been holding, Liz exchanged a commiserating glance with Finn before bending to retrieve her blazer. Finn angrily shoved his keys and I.D. back in his pocket, and popped a piece of gum into his mouth.

"Let's get out of here," Liz urged as she wiped at her jacket.

"Fucking scum," Finn muttered, staring after them with a murderous expression, "...filthy, vile, putrescent, half-witted... no, not even _half_ -witted: less-than-half-witted—"

"Are you coming?" Liz hissed, pulling her blazer more snugly around her chest.

Finn scowled his deepest scowl before nodding in assent, falling into step beside Liz as they hurried back in the direction they'd come, away from their muggers.

"If we continue in this direction, we're bound to encounter some of the mob from earlier," Finn said, talking and gesturing frenetically, "—so for that reason, since there don't appear to be any better options -- unless we take our chances on one of the side streets, which I'm not exactly comfortable with given the type of riff raff that are apparently going about tonight -- I think it might be best if we check out the tube station, for now."

"That's a very long-winded way of admitting I was right."

Finn just frowned and violently chewed his gum as he kept pace with Liz, his strides not quite as long as they had been earlier when she'd struggled to keep up with him.

"Are you all right?" Finn inquired, so quietly that Liz wondered if she'd heard him correctly.

"Huh? Oh, yeah, I guess. I'm not the one who had a gun pointed at me." Liz watched Finn's face tense at the reminder. "...Thanks. That was good of you."

"It's just the sort of thing one asks in such a situation," Finn shrugged.

"No, I mean earlier — when you defended me back there. That was good of you," Liz clarified.

"Don't take it too personally," Finn deflected. "I'm sure it was more of an outraged reaction to the indignity of the situation than anything else."

"Well, thanks for looking out for my dignity, then."

"The indignity of _the situation,_ Liz," Finn explained, slightly flustered. "Not yours, specifically."

They'd just about reached the station entrance when they heard the sound of a vehicle approaching, and looked toward the sound in surprise. It was the first car that had passed this way, and it was driving down the one-way road in the wrong direction.

Before they had a chance to decide how to react, the old-model van slowed as it passed them, then reversed as the driver peered at them curiously. The man rolled down his window, asking, "You two all right? It's not safe to be out on the streets right now; haven't you heard?"

"Hi," said Liz, cautiously approaching the van before Finn reached out and grabbed her elbow, holding her back. "Uh, do you have a cell phone we could borrow?"

"There's a phone box just across the road," the man supplied helpfully.

"It's broken," Liz explained. "We really need to make a call; we've just been mugged."

"Mugged, you say?" The man repeated in surprise, "Sorry to hear it. Are you tourists, then?"

"No," Finn replied, "we're journalists. Covering the riots."

Liz glanced at Finn speculatively as the driver looked them over with renewed interest. "Journalists, eh? All right, hop in. I'll give you a lift."

"We don't need a lift, we just need a phone," Finn replied.

"Haven't got one," the driver shrugged, "but I can get you away from here, if you like."

"Thanks," Liz answered, "that would be great."

Finn touched her elbow again, and she looked up to meet his uncertain expression. "Getting into a stranger's van?" he questioned, voice low, "Is that really such a good idea?"

"Look at our options," Liz replied, "it's either take this guy's help, or hide out in a tube station for who-knows-how-long. I don't know about you, but I _really_ want to go home."

Finn glanced up at the driver, trying to assess the situation. With a sigh, he made up his mind. "All right, then. Thank you," he said to the man, cautiously approaching the vehicle.

"Not a problem," the driver replied, leaning back and muttering something over his shoulder before offering, "climb in back."

The back of the van opened suddenly as Liz and Finn approached, and they looked in to find three other passengers seated on cushions on the floor.

"Hiya," a blonde girl in her early 20s greeted them, "take a seat!"

"Thanks," Liz smiled, looking back at Finn with wide eyes at this unexpected turn of events before climbing into the van.

Finn looked incredibly uncomfortable as he complied, climbing in to share a cushion with Liz. The young man in the back reached behind him to shut the van door, then sat back down beside the other, dark-haired girl. Finn fidgeted in place, trying to get comfortable in the crowded space as the driver yelled, "Hold on!" and hit the gas. Liz and Finn toppled over with the sudden movement, and the others suppressed their laughter as the two awkwardly righted themselves.

"Not very safe, is it?" Finn muttered. The others just regarded him coolly.

"Thanks for helping us out, we really appreciate it," Liz said, eying Finn critically.

"You're reporters?" The young man in the back asked.

"Uh, yeah," Liz replied, "we're with _The Daily Mail_."

"Is that right?" The man said, impressed. "An American working for a British publication?"

"She's on special assignment," Finn provided. "Interning abroad, under my supervision."

"So you're her boss?" the dark-haired girl asked.

"That's right," Finn replied. Liz had to make an effort not to roll her eyes at the hint of smugness in his voice.

"For now," Liz corrected, putting just enough strain on the word 'now' to get her point across. Finn's self-satisfied smirk lost its edge.

"What kind of story are you writing?" the blonde girl asked, "About the riots?"

"Yeah," the dark-haired girl added, "is it going to be some puff piece about how well the police are handling the situation? Because that would be a load of bollocks."

"Oh, well, actually," Liz explained, "we're more interested in understanding the causes at play; we're trying to figure out how it all got started."

Finn, thankfully, kept his mouth shut, though she could sense the combative opinions he was holding back.

"I can tell you how it started," the young man posited. "Two words: _Karl. Jeffries._ "

"Yes," Liz nodded, "we understand that the Karl Jeffries incident was a major contributing factor."

"Do you hear that?" the young man mocked, nudging the dark-haired girl, "the 'Karl Jeffries Incident'? A 'major contributing factor,' she calls it! He was a kid who got murdered by a cop. No matter how you people try to spin it, the fact is _that boy is dead_ and justice hasn't been served. _That's_ why people are rioting. _Justice must be served_."

The girls nodded in solemn agreement as Liz and Finn exchanged a brief look. "You call burning down property 'justice'? Looting and vandalizing? That's 'justice'?" Finn scoffed. Liz nudged him in warning.

"It's a start!" The dark-haired girl replied. "It's taking action; it's saying 'we're not going to take this _shit_ anymore.' It's better than sitting on your arse, staring at the telly and whinging about the shame of it all!"

"Yeah," the blonde girl added, "people are fed up!"

"Who do you suppose pays the price for this 'action'?" Finn patronized, "The people who are actually responsible for the injustice, or innocent bystanders?"

"There are no innocents anymore," the young man insisted, "not when the entire system is this fucked. We're all culpable for the situation as it stands, and it's our job to set it right."

"I agree," Liz interjected, causing Finn to turn to her in mild surprise. "The system is fucked. And we're all part of that system, and we all have our share of responsibility. But those responsibilities aren't equally shared: some people have been placed in positions, by us, that grant them more responsibility than others, and it's those people who should be held accountable for the system's flaws. They're the ones who have to fix it."

"But they're not, are they?" Asked the blonde girl, "What have they done to fix it? Fuck all!"

"They're letting their police forces get away with murder," the dark-haired girl agreed. "What's next? What happens if we just stand by and allow this sort of thing to go on?"

Liz chanced another look at Finn, who was chewing his stale gum with distaste as he regarded the couple across from him with eyes that were utterly unimpressed. "People make mistakes," Liz said. "Nothing can prevent that. We're fallible humans. What happened to Karl Jeffries was a mistake, and appropriate action is being taken."

"Yeah," the young man agreed, "by us."

The warning bells were going off louder now in Finn's head as he chewed his gum faster. He was feeling too claustrophobic in this cramped, windowless space, and he raised his voice to catch the driver's attention.

"Excuse me, sir? If it's not too much of an inconvenience, would you mind taking us to Westminster?"

"What's that?" the driver called over his shoulder, "You want to go to Westminster?"

"Yes, that would be very kind, thank you."

"Not much to report on happening around Westminster," the driver noted.

"It is where we need to be, however," Finn insisted.

"Hmm. We'll see." the driver replied.

Finn looked at Liz in confusion, murmuring, "'We'll see'? What do you suppose he means by that?" Liz just shrugged, looking wary.

"Hey, relax," the blonde girl said to Liz, "it's cool. Seamus is a fab driver, he'll get you where you need to be."

"Let's all relax," the dark-haired girl said suggestively, digging into her pocket and producing a joint.

"Whoa," Liz cautioned, holding up a hand in protest, "that's a bad idea."

"I think it's brill," the young man smirked, producing a lighter and holding it up for the girl as she inhaled.

"Jesus Christ," Finn muttered, "Driver? Could you pull over?"

"Trust me, lad, you don't want to get out here," the driver replied.

"Relax," the blonde girl assured him, as she reached over to take the proffered joint, "it's just a little grass."

"It's an illegal substance," Finn protested.

"It's from the earth," the girl said before inhaling, smiling coyly at Finn as she held the smoke in her lungs before slowly exhaling, "...it's all natural."

"Fuck," Liz coughed, swatting away the smoke that curled around her.

"There isn't adequate ventilation back here!" Finn exclaimed.

"You'll be fine," the guy drawled as he reached over to take a hit.

Finn held his sleeve up to his face, frowning deeply as he tried to prevent the smoke from entering his lungs. After taking a second hit, the young man offered the joint to Liz with a raised eyebrow.

"I'll pass," she declined.

The man shrugged and passed it back to the dark-haired girl, who inhaled deeply before turning back to the young man and leaning in as if for a kiss. Liz and Finn watched with raised brows as the girl passed the smoke to the man through her mouth. As he exhaled, the dank smell of marijuana was getting impossible to ignore.

The group continued to pass the joint around until it became too small to hold, then snuffed it out on the wall of the van. By then, Finn had long since dropped his arm from his face, realizing the futility of his efforts. He and Liz were slumped against the wall of the van, drowsily waiting out the too-long ride.

"I can't believe I'm getting a contact high with Liz Garvey in the back of a van," Finn marveled. "Just when I thought it couldn't get any worse."

"It can always get worse," Liz mused. "You must've learned that by now."

Finn hummed in acknowledgement, rolling his head vaguely in her direction before commenting, "I'm sure this isn't a new experience for you. You strike me as the type of person who would take LSD on a lark, if someone offered."

"Oh yeah?" Liz countered, "Well you strike me as the type of person who wouldn't even get the offer."

Finn frowned as the others snickered. "I'm sure you don't mean that as a compliment, but there's nothing wrong with being taken seriously."

"Sure. Keep telling yourself that's the reason," Liz huffed.

"I feel like I'm falling forward," Finn observed, after a long beat, "...is that normal?"

"...You are kind of slumping," Liz supplied.

Finn blinked in surprise, then settled back against the wall of the van. "What a nightmare."

"I'm really hungry," Liz complained. Finn reached into his pocket and pulled out his nicotine gum, offering it to her.

"Gross," Liz replied. Finn glowered as he popped another piece in his mouth, then shoved the gum back into his pocket. "I didn't realize that's nicotine gum you're always chewing."

"I'm trying to quit," he shrugged.

"Gum, or cigarettes?"

Finn looked thoughtful as he chewed before replying, "The gum now, I guess."

"How long have we been in this van?" Liz wondered.

"I'd estimate at least a half hour," Finn supposed. "Though I wouldn't be surprised if it was tomorrow already."

"Should it take that long to get back to Westminster?" Liz asked.

"No, not usually," Finn frowned, trying to make out where they were through what little he could see of the front windshield from his position. "Sir, are we nearly there?" he asked the driver.

"Aye, we're getting close!" the driver confirmed, reaching under the seat for a moment before tossing a sack into the back of the van. The others started rousing, the dark-haired girl disentangling herself from the lap of the young man and stretching before pulling on a nondescript hoodie.

"This is going to be epic!" The blonde girl exclaimed.

"Wait... what do you mean? What's going to be epic?" Liz asked. The sound of an ambulance siren flared up, and Liz suddenly became aware of the sound of another helicopter. This wasn't right. "Where are we?!"

Finn scrambled up toward the front of the van, steadying himself against the driver's seat as he peered out onto the street. Up ahead, the whole area was lit up in a bright orange glow. " _FUCK!"_ he exclaimed, briefly choking as he swallowed his gum, " _Everything is on fire!!"_

" _WHAT?_ "

"This isn't fucking Westminster!!" Finn shouted.

"No, it's way better," the blonde girl assured him.

" _Where are we?!"_ Liz demanded.

Ominously, Finn replied, " _Tottenham._ " Liz went very pale.

"We're at the _heart_ of the rioting!" the girl excitedly announced, "This is the best possible place for you to report on! This is where it's _really happening!"_

"I see a crowd up ahead," the driver informed them, "let's get into gear!"

The dark-haired girl dumped the sack out, producing four Guy Fawkes masks which she handed out to the others.

"Oh, for fuck's sake!" Finn gawked, sliding down the back of the seat to land listlessly on the floor. "This is just brilliant. I should've guessed." Finn looked across to Liz and saw that the truth had dawned on her, as well. They shared a look of 'you have to be fucking kidding me.'

"No wonder you're all out driving around in the middle of a fucking riot," Finn muttered, sheer loathing dripping from his voice, "—you're _demonstrators._ "


	2. Chapter 2

The van came to an abrupt halt as the sounds of chaos amplified, and Liz looked to Finn with such anxiety that his own spiked a few notches higher. He was already experiencing an inordinate sense of paranoia from the contact high, so this sudden arrival at the lawless inferno that Tottenham had become was nothing short of Dorothy-landing-in-Oz—level disorienting, with uni students donning sinister Guy Fawkes masks in place of the munchkins. Judging by the expression on Liz's face, she was right there with him.

The sound of someone drumming against the side of the van startled them before the back door was wrenched open, and a tatty looking young man leaned in with a wide grin.

" _Shit!"_ the man across from Liz exclaimed, lifting his mask off his face to smile back at the newcomer, "Micah! The fuck are you doing here?!"

"Same as you I expect," Micah grinned, his eyes twinkling in a way that made Finn distinctly nervous.

"We heard you'd been arrested!" The dark-haired girl said.

"Which time?" Micah asked slyly, eliciting laughs from the gang. "Hey, Seamus!" he called to the driver, "Aren't you getting too old for this type of shit?"

"Fuck off, there's enough fight in me to whip your sorry-lookin' hide ten times over without breaking a sweat," Seamus challenged.

"I don't doubt it, man," Micah laughed. He looked at Finn in confusion, then cocked his head when he spotted Liz. "Who's this, then?"

"They're reporters for _The Daily Mail_ ," the blonde girl supplied, "they're writing a story about the rioting!"

"No shit? What are they doing with you lot?" Micah asked, still staring at Liz with a peculiar expression.

"We offered 'em a ride," the young man answered. "Found 'em stranded in Southwark; said they'd been mugged."

"And you wanted to come here?" Micah asked Liz with disbelief.

"This isn't where we wanted to go," Liz explained, "we need to get back to Westminster."

"You're with _The Daily Mail?"_ Micah asked, his tone somewhat suspicious.

"That's right," Finn cut in, "and we urgently need to make a call; I don't suppose you have a phone we might borrow?"

"Haven't I seen you on the telly before?" Micah asked Liz, completely ignoring Finn.

"Uh, no, you must have me confused with someone else," Liz replied, trying to keep the tension out of her face and voice.

A loud commotion broke out behind Micah, and he turned around to gaze at the violence unfolding in the street behind him. His face lit up as he turned back to the van. "All right, fuck this: who's ready for some **motherfucking anarchy**?!"

_"Shit yeah!"_

_"Let's do this!"_

Liz and Finn froze as the group thundered out of the van, shouting and cheering as if they were headed to a football match.

"What are you waiting for?" Seamus called to the two of them as he climbed out onto the street, pulling a crowbar out before urging, "The real story's out here!", then took off after the others.

 _"They're just going to leave us here?!"_ Liz gasped after they'd all gone.

"Good!" Finn exclaimed, clamoring to slam the back door shut, then stumbled up to the front muttering, "Maybe he left the keys in the ignition..."

Liz watched Finn rifle around for a moment, cursing in frustration before sinking back down in defeat. "Oh well," he sighed, running a hand through his hair, "at least we're safe in here."

"We're not _safe_ , Finn," Liz insisted.

"Have you _seen_ it out there?" Finn replied, "Better in here than taking our chances outside. No, don't," he warned, when Liz got up to look out the front window.

Ignoring him, she proceeded to glance out at the pandemonium. "Shit, Finn, they're burning cars..." Liz worried, "...what if someone torches the van while we're inside?"

"We can get out if it comes to that, we're not locked in," Finn reasoned.

"What if they jump us?" Liz fretted, still staring out the window in wide-eyed concern.

"Nobody's going to hurt you, Liz," Finn assured, tugging at her arm, "get down before someone sees you."

"You've seen them; they're like animals," Liz insisted as she sank down beside Finn, "—rabid, just-broke-out-of-the-zoo-and-mauled-the-zookeeper animals on steroids! These people who drove us here are completely tame by comparison!"

"The people who drove us here are stoners, Liz. Of course they're tame. They're just fucking tourists gone on a psychedelic trolley ride through hell."

"Do you think they're coming back?"

"I don't know. Probably."

"What if they don't?"

"Then we'll just have to wait for the situation to calm down — it has to, eventually."

"We might be in here for a while," Liz complained.

"I'm not thrilled about it, either, but at least we'll be alive."

"Hopefully. Assuming that no one sets us on fire, or breaks in and beats us to death... or that we don't get shot through by a stray bullet..."

"Are you always this cheerful in a crisis situation?" Finn groused.

"...Sorry. It's the weed, I think. Whenever I get high I can't shut up."

"Ah, so you _have_ partook."

"Well, yeah, like, in high school. It's been ages," Liz explained.

"Mm hmm. And that business with the police dog at Maze Hill?" Finn inquired with nervous excitement, almost gleeful at the opportunity to bring up the subject, "I don't suppose you had a stash of rashers hidden on you at the time?"

"How _the fuck_ do you know about that?" Liz demanded, turning to face him. Finn just looked infuriatingly smug. "Did Mia say something to you?"

"Not to me, personally, but I hear things," Finn bragged. "So it's true?"

"Okay, first of all— fuck you for spying on my friend just to get dirt on me—"

"It's my job."

"—and second— I wasn't on drugs, or holding drugs, or anything like that at the station. I'd just... accidentally come into contact with some cocaine, earlier."

Finn blinked at her for a moment before replying, "Wow, Liz. That's your story? The Clinton defense? Are you telling me that you held the straw to your nostril, but didn't inhale?"

"Fuck you. It's none of your fucking business, anyway."

"I'm just curious how someone 'accidentally' comes in contact with enough cocaine to trigger a response from a police dog."

"It wasn't mine."

" _Who,_ then? I know for a fact that you don't know anyone in London aside from Mia, and I'm certain she isn't your scapegoat."

"What the fuck, Finn? Do you just go around hacking everyone's e-mails or something?" Liz accused.

"Not everyone's."

"You're a total creep, do you know that?"

"You're changing the subject."

"Oh my God, look at you! You can't _stand_ that you don't know something about me," Liz taunted, eying Finn with a knowing expression as he stared her down, challenging and smug as ever.

"I know everything I need to," Finn assured her.

" _You only think you do_ ," Liz purred, "—you flatter yourself that you've got everyone figured out, but you still _don't know shit_ about who I really am, do you?" she smirked, enjoying the discomfort she was reading in his eyes despite his stiff smile. "You're all conjecture and innuendo, analyzing e-mails and misinterpreting gestures, but at the end of the day you're still just bumping around in the dark, pretending to see what isn't there."

"Like you and Richard? Are you still going to tell me that nothing was really going on between you?" Finn bitterly retorted.

"Nothing happened between me and Richard!" Liz declared, shaking her head in emphasis.

"Right. You really expect me to believe that."

"Believe it or not, it's the truth."

"I _saw_ the two of you!" Finn objected, "It was as obvious as... as a gay man at a Kylie concert!"

"Have you ever even _been_ to a concert??" Liz asked, grimacing at his analogy.

"Everyone could see it!! We all _knew_ you were fucking each other!" Finn insisted, his hands gesturing wildly in frustration.

"Except that _we weren't!"_ Liz replied in exasperation. When Finn just rolled his eyes, she continued, "All right, fine: maybe there was _a flirtation,_ but that was it! And you know what? Even if I had fucked Richard, it still wouldn't give you the right to lord it over me like some kind of obsessed, hypervigilant morality cop!"

"HE WAS OUR BOSS. I wouldn't give a toss if you were fucking some mid-level department grunt, but fucking the very man who _our job_ requires us to protect from scandal is definitely a problem for me."

"All right, fine, _but I still wasn't_ ," Liz groaned.

"But you wanted to." Finn replied, with the hint of a question attached.

Liz looked at him seriously for a moment, making sure she had his attention before admitting, "I don't know. Maybe at one time, but I don't think I would've acted on it." Finn studied her face, searching for signs of deception. After a moment, she quietly added, "He would have, though... if I'd let him."

Finn regarded her strangely, then remarked in a less harsh tone than before, "I saw him kiss you."

Liz furrowed her brow, and asked, "When? ...In my office?" Finn nodded. Liz's brow furrowed deeper. "You were watching me?"

Finn made an unapologetic face, as if to say the answer were obvious. A siren could be heard blaring from somewhere near by, then faded out as Liz flatly explained, "Like I said, there was a flirtation. But it was more from his side than mine."

"Of course," Finn sneered. "Because nobody can resist your innate, unconscious charms, eh, Liz? You're just that fucking desirable."

Liz narrowed her eyes and shook her head in astonishment. "What's your fucking problem with me, Finn?" she asked. "Are you really just that much of an asshole, or is it something about me in particular that makes you such a complete prick?"

Finn glowered at her for just a moment before turning away, staring at the back of the van as he replied, "Maybe not everyone is as impressed with you as you expect them to be," he gibed. "Is that such a shock? That I might see past the carefully constructed veneer of poise and earnestness? That I might glimpse the entitled, self-deceiving hack beneath it all?"

"You don't know me," Liz scoffed.

"So you keep saying. But I think I might know you too well. Even better than you might know yourself."

"Whatever, asshole." Liz crossed her arms, staring at the opposite wall along with Finn, both quietly stewing. There was a crash and some shouting close by, but neither reacted. After awhile, Finn's eyes darted in Liz's direction, scanning what he could see of her without moving his head. Somehow Liz must've caught on, because her head turned in time to catch him.

"What?" she asked. Finn frowned, his gaze plastered back on the rear of the van. Liz sighed and slumped back further against the back of the passenger seat. The silence between them dragged on, loud in the small space despite all the noise from outside.

Some time later, Finn surprised her by blurting, "You never mentioned how you got cocaine all over you."

Liz looked at him questioningly—noticing that he was still avoiding eye contact—before replying, "No, I didn't." She was uncommonly satisfied by Finn's resulting frown.

"I'm not looking for something to use against you," Finn tried, "I'm just curious."

"Uh huh."

"Or we could just sit here in silence, if you prefer," Finn snapped. After receiving no response, he glanced over to find Liz smiling at him in a discomfiting manner. "Suit yourself," Finn muttered, crossing his arms tighter across his chest and scowling at the wall again.

Liz considered her response for a long time before finally saying—in a strangely relaxed, conversational tone—"I met him at business school."

"Him?" Finn replied, unable to fully conceal his interest as he looked over.

"We broke up when I moved back to San Francisco, but I called him out of the blue one night and we started hanging out again."

Liz watched as Finn stretched his neck and jutted his chin in a funny way, trying to train his features back into neutrality before asking, "And by 'hanging out,' I assume you mean letting him snort large quantities of coke off your naked body whilst listening to shitty synthpop?"

"What?? No!" Liz denied with a humorless laugh, "Jesus, is that really the first scenario you picture when I tell you I had a guy over?"

"A guy who enjoys cocaine, apparently," Finn defended, shrugging awkwardly.

"Yeah, but he's not a fucking Bond villain," Liz objected, "he uses a mirror."

"Great taste in men you have, Liz," Finn criticized.

"Fuck off, I didn't know he'd turn out to be a total coke head. I hadn't spoken to him in years. Anyway, somehow some of it fell into my shoe, and you know the rest." After a beat, she added, "And I already tossed out the shoes, so don't try and ambush me with a police dog or anything now that I've told you the story."

"Are you still seeing him?" Finn asked, looking somewhat like he regretted letting the question slip out. Liz looked at him for a moment before replying.

"I don't know. Probably not."

Finn frowned at that. "It wouldn't be wise for a person in your position to continue a relationship with someone with a drug habit, as I'm sure you know."

"Yeah, I know."

"Then it's settled," Finn said, as if it should be obvious.

"We'll see."

Finn turned to her at that. "Why the fuck would you even consider carrying on with him?" he asked, as if truly incapable of understanding.

"People aren't that simple, Finn," Liz replied, looking at him as if surprised that she had to explain it to him. "We make bad decisions."

Finn gave her a withering look before replying, "Not willfully; not if we know better."

"Sometimes especially if we know better." Liz was looking at him strangely. Finn was studying her face with rapidly-moving eyes, trying to figure out something that simply would not cohere. Before he could suss out the meaning of her expression, a bright glow lit up the van from the window behind them, and both turned to watch as flames engulfed the opposite building. It was far enough away that they weren't in any immediate danger, but near enough to feel the heat as the fire accelerated.

"You still think we're safe in here?" Liz asked quietly, still watching the blaze.

"Safer than out there," Finn maintained, though his voice wavered tellingly.

As they stared out at the fire, their attention was momentarily diverted by the sight of a small group of teenagers pushing two shopping trolleys loaded with stolen goods, gawking and laughing as they ran past the burning buildings, as if enjoying some kind of demented theme park attraction.

"Oh my God, look at them: they're just kids," Liz marveled in a hushed tone. "They think this is funny!"

"I'd hope someone would arrest the little shits, but even so they'd probably just get off with some ASBOs and a community sentence," Finn muttered irritably.

"I hope they don't get hurt," Liz pointedly countered.

Finn looked at her disparagingly, intent on making some sardonic remark, but was distracted by the play of the firelight across her features as she looked out on the street, her mouth parted and her eyes soft—almost sad—as he'd seen them many times before. It wasn't the first time he'd been blindsided by her expression, finding unexpected softness and sadness where he was anticipating harshness and impudence. At first he'd convinced himself that it was deliberate: that she was just manipulating him, trying to evoke sympathy to throw him off his game, much like he'd done when he'd confided to her about his troubles with his fictional wife. But then she'd pulled the same face on him following their argument over Richard and the bombing at the Thameside centre—after he'd made some crack about knowing where the bodies were buried—looking so lost and dispirited when she might have looked irritated with him, or even gloated over securing her own status and ensuring his departure. There was no conceivable advantage in appearing so vulnerable in that moment, and the memory of it had haunted Finn long after he'd stormed off with a final "good luck!" over his shoulder, unable to look at those eyes for another moment while maintaining his rightful indignation. And here it was again, though not the same sort of unexpected sadness but a kind of sadness nonetheless, typical Liz and annoyingly endearing.

The blaze had risen higher as the entire building succumbed to the flames, and the heat emanating from it was warming the van considerably. Finn turned away, loosening his tie and unbuttoning his collar.

"Still think you made the right decision, hitching your wagon to Inglis instead of fucking off back to Instagram, or taking a stab at City Hall?" Finn asked, "I'm sure you would've received a much warmer reception over at the Mayor's office."

"I don't know, Finn — this is pretty fucking warm," Liz answered distractedly, still fixated on the fire.

"Sharon hates you; Charles doesn't trust you; you make Tom nervous... even Mia was leaning more toward my corner than yours when you were indisposed."

"Only because you were bullying her."

"Hardly. She finds me quite charming, as a matter of fact."

Liz let out a dry laugh at that. "Finn, you're about as charming as an angry baboon."

"My point, Liz, is that there must be better options available to you. Take a look around: surely this isn't what you signed on for."

"Are you asking me if I'm having second thoughts about sticking with the department, or are you just trying _to get me_ to have them?"

Finn pulled a face as he looked up at Liz, who was still kneeling on the cushion behind the passenger seat, watching as the building burned down.

"What about you?" Liz asked, glancing toward Finn without fully facing him.

"Me?" Finn replied, confused.

"You mentioned how everyone else feels about me. Do you hate me? Trust me? ...Do I make _you_ nervous?"

Liz suppressed a small smirk as she watched Finn's face quickly waver between several emotions before settling on irritation. "I think I have every right to detest you after you tried to use Richard to oust me."

"You were conspiring against me, Finn; you didn't leave me much choice."

"Well, you've certainly demonstrated your tenacity," Finn sneered. "Of course I don't trust you. Despite your ethos of transparency, you've proven yourself quite adept at operating in the dark."

"You're one to talk."

"I don't deny what I am or what I have to do to keep our department from collapsing. I know exactly who I am: I'm the guy who spins shit into fool's gold."

"Rumpleshitskin?"

"Precisely."

Liz laughed at that, and Finn had to will away his involuntary smile. After a moment she sunk back down to the floor, shrugging out of her blazer and settling back against the passenger seat.

"I don't know, Finn," she sighed. "Right now I don't really give a shit about where I stand with Inglis or the rest of the department. I really just want to get the fuck out of Tottenham. Go home. Eat. Take a shower. Wash the smell of weed and terror and burning cars out of my hair."

Finn hummed in acknowledgement, rolling his head back against the seat to face the rear of the van. A few beats passed before he asked, "What about you? Do you still hate me for trying to get you booted off the team?"

Almost as soon as he'd voiced the question, he regretted asking it. "Actually, never mind. Of course you do, and I still don't care," he shrugged.

Liz looked at him thoughtfully as he continued to stare at the back of the van, his eyes darting sideways at her briefly before he stretched his neck as he swallowed, his face tight with the effort to appear unconcerned.

"I don't hate you, Finn," Liz admitted, sounding strangely like she meant it.

Finn's eyes dropped—his brow furrowed—and now he truly was regretting having asked the question. His chest felt tight and he was too hot under his jacket.

"I might not like you very much, and you might irritate the shit out of me, but I don't hate you," she amended.

Finn was trying to pull a sarcastic face that she was sure was meant to convey his indifference toward her opinion, but Liz was caught short by what she was reading behind his brittle facade. She suddenly got the distinct impression that he did, in fact, care what she thought about him... _very much._

"You're sweating," she observed, noting the perspiration dotting his forehead.

"We're parked next to a burning building," Finn defended.

"So take off your jacket," Liz offered.

Finn looked at her strangely for a moment before begrudgingly complying, setting his jacket aside before unbuttoning his cuffs and rolling up his shirt sleeves.

"Better?" she asked as he settled back against the seat.

Finn felt as if she was toying with him somehow, but he didn't understand the angle. He shot her a dark look that morphed into nervous suspicion when he saw the way she was looking at him.

"Can I ask you something?" Liz inquired, her tone playfully confidential, as if addressing her friend rather than her nemesis. Finn's eyes went a bit wide.

"What?" he muttered.

"When's the last time you got laid?"

If Finn hadn't already swallowed his gum, he would have now.

"What the fuck— how is my sex life any of your business?" he scowled.

"Come on, I told you about coke-head guy," she prompted.

"You never said you were fucking him," Finn grumbled.

"Whatever, you got the idea."

"Besides, I never asked," Finn shrugged, a little hysterically, "because I don't care who you're fucking — unless it's our boss."

"What if I fucked Tom?" Liz asked.

"Did you?" Finn replied, aghast.

"No," Liz laughed, "of course not. But see: you would care if I did."

"Only because it would mean I'd have to reevaluate my assessment of Tom."

"Come on, just answer the question."

"Why do you even care?" Finn asked.

"I'm just curious," Liz insisted, with that odd look about her once again. "I don't know much about you aside from how big of an asshole you can be when you set your mind to it. Everything I know about you is based on what I've seen at work."

"That's not unusual, considering we're colleagues," Finn sarcastically remarked.

"Do you have a girlfriend?" Liz tried. Finn just narrowed his eyes at her, looking obstinate. "Is that a no?" Another beat passed without a reply. "Why not?" Something else occurred to her: "...Boyfriend?" she ventured, skeptically.

Finn rolled his eyes. "I'm not playing _20 Questions to Deduce My Sexual History_ with you, Liz. Go back to staring out at the street if you require sensationalism."

"Do you always weigh your hair down with products?" Liz asked, her abrupt change of tack flustering him even further.

"Really? You want to talk about hair maintenance, now? Did you inhale too much smoke? This isn't a sleepover."

Liz reached out tentatively before lightly running her fingers through Finn's hair—fluffing it out slightly—the soft touch freezing him, wordless. "I bet it would look nice without all that product in it," she mused, gazing pensively at his hair. Finn just stared at her, at a loss. When she glanced down to meet his eyes, something inscrutable passed between them before she slowly withdrew her hand. Her game had apparently backfired, as her teasing gave way to a sudden awkwardness. She sat back against the seat, staring out thoughtfully for a moment before casting her eyes downward, processing secret thoughts as Finn watched her in his periphery.

The moment stretched out for too long before Finn could come up with something to say. "I was engaged, once." _Fuck. Why did he just tell her that?_

Liz looked over at him in surprise, looking vaguely hurt in her usual way. _Or was she sorry for him?_

"It didn't work out. Obviously," he explained, looking more awkward than he had when she'd asked him about his sex life. "It all went tits up when I found out she'd been shagging her editor," he muttered bitterly.

"She was a journalist?" Liz asked, bewildered by the revelation.

"Was. Years ago. Now she spends her days looking after their two children, attending yoga lessons, and posting more photos to facebook than anyone could keep up with."

Liz looked out toward the back of the van in wide-eyed wonder, constellating this new information with her previous conception of Finn Kirkwood, reshuffling the pieces until a somewhat more coherent picture had formed.

"Is her name Sarah?" she asked, as if figuring something out.

"Yes," Finn admitted, realizing she'd guessed the inspiration behind his semi-fictitious story.

"Does she live in Hertfordshire?"

Finn looked at her with a dull expression, replying in a flat affect, "She does, now."

Liz's brows shot up as her conclusion panned out. She recalled her words back then, when she'd taunted Finn about his wife screwing everyone in his 'sad little village.' He'd already hated her at that point, but she was sure that the gibe must've been added to his list of 'Reasons to destroy Liz.'

"It was a long engagement; it wasn't as if I found out on the eve of our wedding, or anything trite as that. In fact I'd had my suspicions before I'd managed to confirm them."

"How did you know? Did you pull her phone records or something?" Liz guessed. Finn pulled a face with a slight nod, indicating that he had done as much, 'or something.'

"Wow."

Finn couldn't tell if she was being critical or sympathetic. He also wasn't sure which response was preferable.

"I bet your internet browsing history would be super incriminating, if you didn't erase it on a routine basis," Liz guessed.

_(Critical, then.)_

"If you mean to imply that I have a habit of keeping tabs on persons of interest, then yes, I am very thorough in my research."

"I don't think I even want to know what 'tabs' you've been keeping on me," Liz cringed. Finn was giving her one of those strange, taut-jawed, sideways glances again, which she took to mean that he had been googling her, at the very least. Lurking around her facebook, most likely. ... _trolling her twitter Q &As, maybe?_

Just then a shot rang out from somewhere in the vicinity, followed by several more. Liz and Finn held their breath as they tensed, listening to the exchange of gunfire.

 _"Jesus, what now?!"_ Liz exhaled after the reports had trailed off.

"Riot police must be moving in," Finn murmured, "...that's good. If they're here, then they'll be restoring some measure of control. We might be able to get out of this van sooner than later."

"You direct PR for Scotland Yard, Finn: cops shooting at rioters isn't even remotely 'good'!" Liz argued.

"We don't know who's shooting at who," Finn countered, "and frankly, considering our present situation, I'd rather the police are the ones using guns right now; rubber bullets or not."

Liz let out a sigh, afraid that she agreed with him. Both were sitting very still and listening, waiting for some indication of what was happening outside. There were distant shouts that sounded very serious, faraway sirens, the constant roaring of flames, and the intermittent echoes of helicopters that had become a sort of white noise over the whole disaster, but no more gunshots. After some time had passed, Liz turned back to Finn. He regarded her cautiously, still trying to filter through the chaos for some sign of authority. She was still listening, too, but now she was watching him while she listened, looking at him as if some answer might be found in his face... his shoulders... his hands...

Voices. Voices were close. Too close. Liz's eyes shot up to Finn's and locked on as they heard someone approaching.

"It's over here," a muffled voice rasped. "Quick!"

Heavy footsteps could be heard headed straight for the van, and then the door was flung open. Liz jumped and reached out for Finn, grabbing hold of his arm.

"What the fuck are you two still doing in here?" Seamus demanded as a man they hadn't seen before climbed into the van, reaching back to help drag someone else inside. Someone in uniform. A riot cop. An injured riot cop.

"What are you doing?!" Finn sputtered, "What happened to him??"

Once the cop's feet were in, Micah climbed in after, looking frightfully serious and splattered in blood. The front passenger door opened, and the blonde girl from earlier climbed in, crying.

"What's going on?" Liz asked, addressing nobody in particular.

"Shit!" Micah swore, "Lucas, get the fuck in the van!"

Another newcomer jumped in, holding a gun in his hand. His expression was far more grim than Micah's, and Liz's hand gripped Finn tighter at the sight of him.

"Who the fuck are they?" Lucas spat as Micah swung the door shut and Seamus climbed into the driver's seat, quickly starting the engine.

"Let's get the fuck out of here," Seamus muttered, sounding both extremely anxious and pissed off. Beside him, the blonde girl was still crying.

"Is anyone going to tell us what's going on?!" Finn exclaimed as the van tore off with a squeal, tossing everyone back and sideways.

"You and your girlfriend chose the wrong fucking van to snog in, that's what's going on, mate," the man holding the injured officer replied.

"We weren't—" Finn started, but was cut off by a sputtering sound from the cop.

"Oh my God, has he been shot?!" Liz gasped.

"Hang on... hang _the fuck on..._ don't I know you from somewhere?" Lucas asked Liz, squinting at her in confused recognition.

"I thought I'd seen her on the telly," Micah agreed, "but she told me she's a writer for _The Daily Mail._ "

The injured officer chose that moment to groan in pain, causing the man holding him to punch him in the shoulder and mutter, "Shut up, motherfucker."

"Hey!" Liz protested, "Don't hurt him! What are you doing?? We have to get him to a hospital!"

"Liz, be quiet," Finn warned under his breath, afraid that her American accent might tip off the others.

"We're not taking him to hospital," the man holding him huffed. "We've got much bigger plans for this pig."

"Oh shit," Lucas laughed, his eyes wide as he stared at Liz, "I know where I've seen you! Holy motherfucking _shit!"_ Turning to Micah with a wild sort of excitement, he asked, "You know who she is?"

"Who?"

"She's that _American bitch_ that was _fucking the dead police commissioner!"_

"Oh shit... OH SHIT! You're bang on, mate! Bloody hell! That IS her!"

Liz turned to Finn in panic, only to find the same look in his eyes. They both were aware that their situation had just gone from very bad to much, much worse. _Oh, shit._

* * *

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

Commissioner Inglis stepped dutifully into the lift, quickly crowded by Tom and his security detail. After everything that had transpired over the last several hours, returning to Scotland Yard felt like the emptiest kind of pretense. He could see the way people were looking at him, with that small relief, as if his presence among them meant that order might somehow be restored. 'Aha, the Commissioner is back — he'll sort this mess out,' they seemed to say, 'he'll douse the flames of this burning building before they consume us all!' ...As if. Truth be told, they'd be lucky if he had enough presence of mind left to remember to ask for something to eat.

He listened as Tom rattled off a semi-succinct status report, somewhat breathlessly. Charles glanced over at him and considered how impossibly boyish the man looked — even more so than usual, given his current distress.

"And what about Finn and Liz?" Inglis inquired, "Any word yet?"

"No," Tom replied, his brow creasing with worry, "We're still searching."

"Nothing?" Inglis replied, annoyed, "Not even CCTV footage?"

"We're trying, sir, but we are a bit overwhelmed at the moment..."

"You know how 'overwhelmed' we'll be if anything happens to them," Inglis snapped. "Keep looking."

"Of course, sir."

As the lift doors opened, Charles' determined eyes immediately landed on the wide-eyed face of Mia Conroy, who was heading straight toward the lifts with a phone to her ear.

"He's here, he just arrived," she informed whoever she was talking to. "Yes. I will. Right away."

As she hurried up to him, Inglis looked at her with wary expectation, thinking, _'what now?'_

"Commissioner, you're needed in the situation room," she panted, "It's urgent."

Inglis nodded, leading the way as his entourage followed close behind. All around them, the sound of phones going off raised the already escalating tension as they quickened their pace. Tom's phone beeped once before he immediately answered, listening open-mouthed before blurting, _"Bloody hell!"_

Inglis glanced at him with some surprise, but didn't bother asking as they were already approaching the situation room. Whatever it was, he was about to find out. Sharon was already inside, and turned to him with her own look of quiet shock. Before he could ask what was happening, his attention was diverted by the wide monitor in front of him, which was displaying some sort of amateur broadcast. A man in a balaclava was speaking to the camera, and behind him, bound, gagged, and on their knees as another man held a gun beside them, were the missing PR brats, themselves. Finn fucking Kirkwood and Liz fucking Garvey. Hostages. 

"Will someone kindly tell me _what the fuck_ is going on, now?" Inglis asked, eerily quiet as he regarded the monitor with disbelief.

Sharon turned back to the screen, her lips thinning in controlled dismay as she bleakly informed him, "We found them, Commissioner."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SPOILER-ISH: More to follow soon! This has been a time jump; the next chapter will rewind the story back to approximately where chapter 2 left off.


End file.
